Yes, it was quite an accomplishment, so Braumin heard from his friend and the supporters in the crowd, but he could not really believe it.
Dusibol was not even an abbot, and still had challenged him reputably. In normal times, Master Dusibol would not even have been on the ballot!
Braumin Herde had been an Abbot, and was a Bishop even, and had led to the great victory that had saved the Church at St.-Mere-Abelle.
And yet, his victory was not overwhelming.
He looked around at the gathering as he moved to stand beside Viscenti. He understood their hesitance, their fear. Perhaps it would have been better if they had gone through several ballots, with speeches and debates between each!
“I move that Master Dusibol be elevated to the rank of Abbot of St. Bondabruce immediately,” Braumin opened, and now the cheers grew louder. The new Father Abbot looked over at the contingent from St. Honce in Ursal as he spoke, and noted some disconcerting expressions coming back his way. They had wanted Master Ohwan on the ballot, but Dusibol had beaten him out for the third spot, in no small part because of the whispers of Viscenti and Dellman, both noted followers of Braumin Herde.
St. Honce was being punished, they believed, and not without reason. For that abbey had supported King Aydrian and Marcalo De’Unnero — it was rumored that Aydrian had meant to elevate Ohwan to the rank of Abbot of St. Honce, some whispered that the King had actually done so.
Dusibol was a traditionalist, and clearly not enamored of Braumin’s changes, clearly, but Ohwan…
Ohwan could be real trouble, Braumin Herde feared. Particularly now, where Master Dusibol had garnered far more votes than Abbot Haney, who supported Braumin (and probably voted for Braumin, the new Father Abbot understood) and the emergency measures he had taken to secure St.-Mere-Abelle.
Braumin looked at the pile of red chips again, and understood that the early years of his reign would not be without great challenges.
And honest ones, he had to admit.
He was asking a lot of an Order that prided itself on rituals and ways nearly a millennium old.
“So be it,” he thought, and he said, loudly, and he slammed his fist down on the table.
“I am a devout follower of Avelyn,” he decreed. “I make no secret of that. Do not believe that his canonization will be slowed by the tragic events of the last year. The Chapel of Avelyn will be rebuilt in Caer Tinella in short order, and fully staffed, and I will see Avelyn Desbris declared as a Saint of our Order.”
He saw a lot of nods. He noted no overt looks of discontent.
“You have seen the changes I have made in bringing in new brothers — and sisters.”
He paused there and let the murmurs roll through the hall, and surely they were lessened because of the amazing exhibition the brothers had witnessed in the arena. Still, though, they remained, a buzz of anger just below the surface in many of the gathered brothers.
“My first act as Father Abbot, though, will be to declare a full inventory of the Ring Stones. We have thousands in our possession — Avelyn, who will be sainted, brought back nearly two thousand alone!”
A few scattered claps echoed about the hall.
“It was said to be the greatest haul of sacred stones ever returned,” Braumin went on, careful not to overstep too greatly by naming the process. “And indeed, for one man, the feat was beyond impressive — yet more proof that Avelyn walked with God. But there was a time, brothers…”
He paused and shook his head and sighed for effect, then said cryptically, “We will discuss this at length in the coming days. You will come to see, as I have learned, that much of what we have been taught is not the full, not the only, truth, of our sacred heritage.”
He had to pause again and hold up his hands to quiet the uneasy rumblings that began to echo, more loudly now.
“You will see,” he promised. “And this, too, we shall debate long into the nights, I promise. And in those nights, I will show to you why another will ascend behind Avelyn, why Master Jojonah will find his sainthood in the flames foul Markwart set beneath him!”
Even Viscenti looked at him in shocked, stunned, horrified even, that Braumin had moved so boldly, so quickly! He hadn’t even put on the robes of the Father Abbot yet!
“What admission of failure and complicity is this?” demanded one of the Masters of St. Honce — speaking for Ohwan, of course.
“Our failures are already known, and now better admitted,” the Father Abbot insisted.
“He was your friend, but that is not an impetus for canonization!” the man shouted back.
Braumin smiled as warmly as he could manage. “He was my teacher. He was the guidepost for all of us who defied the demon Markwart, and Marcalo De’Unnero after him. I nominate him — indeed, I do so right now! And I will champion him, as I champion Avelyn, these two men who, by God’s wisdom and grace, guided us through our darkest hours. It was the spirit of Jojonah, I say, that led Brother Francis out onto the fields to minister to those afflicted with the Rosy Plague, an action that cost him his life, as he expected and as he accepted! It was the spirit of Jojonah surging within the body of Brother Romeo Mullahy, who threw himself from the Barbacan Shrine of Avelyn to let his persecutors see the foul truth of their journey!”
He paused again, expected a retort, but none came forth. Bolstered, and really with nothing to lose, Father Abbot Braumin pressed on.
“The gemstones will be used to alleviate the suffering of the people, brethren or not — indeed, Abellican or not! A brother possessing a soul stone who ignores the pain of a man of Behren or Alpinador, does so by turning his back on God.
“And yes, there are now many sisters among us, most young, some who have served in convents for decades. They will train, we will train, and we will go forth and reclaim every abbey, every chapel, and every heart for St. Abelle!”
He slammed his fist on the table once more, indicating that his speech, and this gathering, was at its end, and he turned and left through the back door of the room, the one leading to the private quarters of the Father Abbot, Masters Viscenti, Dellman and Abbot Haney at his side.
They left to rousing cheers.
“A fine beginning, Father Abbot,” Haney congratulated.
“But a long way to go,” Braumin replied, and he was glad when Haney put a hand on his shoulder, in full support.
And bringing with him, Braumin believed and prayed, the full support of new King Midalis.
“The community is greater than the individual,” Father Abbot Braumin said to an agitated Brother Thaddius. “Is that not what Pagonel preaches? And is it not true?”
“This is not the Order I joined, Father Abbot,” Thaddius insisted.
“But it is indeed.”
Thaddius stared at him incredulously. “For years, I studied the ways of St.-Mere-Abelle. None were more prepared than I when first I entered these gates!”
“Beware your pride, young brother. Perhaps I will tell you the tale of Avelyn Desbris, that you might find humility. Perhaps I will tell you of Avelyn’s first great demonstration of Ring Stone power, one that shocked the Masters and Father Abbot. He was no older than you are now, and yet none in the Church, not even Marcalo De’Unnero, could have matched the fireball he created over the bay, and that after leaping from the roof and walking across the water!”
Brother Thaddius seemed to labor for his breath. The inclusion of De’Unnero in the lesson (particularly since De’Unnero did not stand as the pinnacle of Ring Stone affinity in the days of Avelyn) had stolen the young man’s bluster, as it had surely been added as a subtle warning from the Father Abbot.
“I knew the ways of the Abellican Order. I cherished the ritual, the solemnity, the…”
“A dragon flew through our great window,” Father Abbot Braumin reminded. “A great battle was fought about our gates and within the monastery. You witnessed the carnage and destruction. We cannot go back. Not now.”